


In Conspectu Mortis

by javabi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: ....and he's also sick of everyone's shit, Angst, Character Death, Coda, Death ships it, Declarations Of Love, Demon Dean Winchester, Emotional Dean, Hurt Castiel, King of Hell Dean, M/M, POV: Death, Pining Dean, Praying to Castiel, Queen of Hell Abaddon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-01-26 02:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1671176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/javabi/pseuds/javabi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the past, Death had prided himself on his ability to stay out of the tedious affairs of humanity. But when Dean Winchester becomes a Knight of Hell and threatens reality's perfect balance, Death decides to take things into his own hands. Between playing matchmaker for an infant demon and his fallen angel, trying not to start a war between the planes of reality, and keeping said demon's little brother from trapping him for eternity, Death finds himself even busier than usual. There truly aren't enough pickle chips in the world to reward him for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Three Planes

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick thing: The tense in this fic is a little weird. I intentionally slip in and out of past, present, and pluperfect - it's a stylistic choice. I thought it would be interesting to use because Death isn't a "solid" being and he has at least some level of omnipotence, so that's my way of reflecting that I guess. Sorry if it's confusing, I thought it was cool :)

The universe trembled when Dean Winchester fell from humanity, and Death admitted his attention was caught. He didn’t know yet what exactly had caused the disturbance, but surely an event that wracked the very fibers of reality had to be significant anyway. All four planes had been impacted, and Death would personally visit them all if he had to, just to find out what was going on.

Heaven was his first stop, as it was most likely the angels had screwed something up again. Those wavelengths of celestial stupidity had caused plenty of problems in the past, as Death knew better than anyone. Sure enough, he arrived to find the place in complete disarray, with most of the angels still stuck on Earth and the rest blabbering uselessly about someone called Metatron. Finally he managed to extract some information from a terrified Cherub, who told Death that a former Seraph named Castiel was in charge now.

“ _Former_ Seraph?” Death had asked, curious.

“He was deposed,” the Cherub replied meekly. “Metatron cast him from Heaven and stole his Grace in order to—“ But Death had stopped the angel there. He knew the rest of the story. What he _didn’t_ know was how this rebellious half-angel Castiel had become the leader of the Heavenly Host. After the Cherub told Death where said leader could be found, he left immediately, his curiosity growing with every step.

He finds Castiel tucked away in an insignificant corner of Heaven. There’s a human man nearby flying a kite, but Death ignores him. The only other beings around are a handful of other angels, standing at attention around Castiel like bodyguards. Death quickly realizes that’s exactly what they are, and wills them to fall asleep where they stand; this conversation is for the leader’s ears only, no need to complicate things more.

Heaven’s new Big Cheese doesn’t move as his guards fall to the ground at his feet. Castiel is sitting on a bench, staring at a patch of daffodils without really looking at them at all. Dejected and pathetic, he looks more like a paper doll than an angel, even a weakened one.

As Death approaches, the angel keeps his eyes planted on the flowers and says tonelessly, “He isn’t here.”

Puzzled, Death sits next to the angel, but Castiel doesn’t turn his gaze.  Now that he has gotten closer, Death notes the frailty of the angel’s true form, which appears frayed around the edges and breaking apart in the middle. His vessel’s appearance is no better, with its slumped shoulders, red-rimmed eyes, and trembling hands.

“And who exactly do you think I’m looking for, little angel?”

Finally, Castiel turns to look at him, human mouth stumbling over the words as though they’re physically paining him to say, “D-Dean Winchester.”

Of course. Of course it would be a Winchester who causes a cosmic shift in the four planes of reality. He shouldn’t have expected anything else.

Death says nothing, but Castiel continues in a voice like shattering glass, “I have been searching for him. He isn’t here, in Heaven but I – he shouldn’t be – he _can’t_ be down in – in –“ Castiel shudders before adding, with unexpected firmness, “Dean is a good man.”

“If he were dead, I am also sure he would come to Heaven.” Death says quietly.

“ _If_?”Castiel stops shaking immediately, and an expression similar to anger (with added bits of shock and pain) hovers like a dark cloud over his features. Interesting how this angel shows so many emotions. Death assumes it’s the human part showing through.

“ _If_ Dean Winchester were dead, yes I’m sure I’d know, wouldn’t you agree?” Death says exasperatedly. “I once told Sam that it would be an honor to reap him myself. I would extend the sentiment to his brother.”

“So… he’s alive?!”

“Are you deaf, little angel? I’m telling you that he is. But something has happened and I don’t know what yet. As you seem to be even less informed than myself, I’ll be on my way. “ Death rose from the bench to leave, but hesitated as Castiel cried, “Wait!”

Death stopped, looking down at the angel impatiently. “Be quick, I’m very busy.”

Surprisingly, the angel was glaring at him. Once the annoyingness of it could be ignored, it was actually kind of endearing. “What do you mean ‘something has happened’? Is Dean all right?”

“Weren’t you listening? I said _I don’t know_. Now if you’ll excuse—“

But suddenly the angel was grabbing his wrist in some kind of attempt to hold him back. With a glower that would have shriveled the flowers at the angel’s feet, Death shook his arm away from the laughably weak grip, but that didn’t stop the puny idiot from speaking.

“If you find something,” Castiel growled. “I insist that you inform me.”

Death smirked. “You insist, do you? Well, my feathered friend, if you ever _insist_ that I do anything again, I shall personally carve that poor excuse for a Grace from your body and make it into something useful, like a dung beetle.”

Castiel’s jaw clenched and he whispered, “Please.”

Something shifted in Death’s mind. A distant memory of someone (perhaps God?) telling him that one day an insignificant angel would fall in love with an especially important human, and together they would change the universe. Death had heard… rumors about it since then, but had never paid them any attention. Looking now upon Castiel, at the glimmer of hope in the eyes that should have been completely emotionless, he feels something akin to pity.

Death sighs. “If I have the time, I will tell you what I discover. In the meantime—“ He turned on his heel and left Heaven (and its besotted leader) far above.

-O-

He went to Purgatory next.

The Winchester had already gotten himself stuck there once, was it so hard to believe he would do so again? Though Death wasn’t sure how being in Purgatory could lead to such a massive event, he was bound to find out soon.

Such a task might be harder than he thinks, however. Unlike Heaven and Hell, Purgatory has no leader to go to. At least, it hasn’t for a few millennia. So when Death begins questioning the defeated monsters that lurk in those endless grey trees, he is surprised to find that they all repeat one name: _Abaddon_.

At first Death had tried looking for Dean Winchester directly, but whenever he said the man’s name every monster within hearing distance had scurried away like frightened field mice. Apparently Mr. Winchester had created a reputation for himself in his brief time in Purgatory. Death couldn’t help but feel a little proud.

When he finally managed to get one monster to stay still long enough to talk (a werewolf, of all beings), she was barely coherent. When he’d asked about Dean, she had stammered “Looking – the angel – _his_ angel –“

“Yes, I know about Castiel. What else can you tell me?”

With wide, fearful eyes and her hackles raised defensively, the werewolf spat, “Abaddon. She’s – she’s here, because he—” And with a final furtive look, she darted away through the trees.

Trust the cleverest of the Knights of Hell to forge herself a throne in any circumstance.

He found Abaddon in less than a minute, though she probably thought she’d hidden herself well. Sure enough, she was surrounded by minions obeying her every word, as decadent as she could get considering where she was. Death was immensely satisfied to see the shock on her face when he approached her.

“I’m already dead!” she snarled, leaping to her feet so ferociously that the gaggle of minions cowered beneath her. “What could you possibly want with me? I’ve managed to carve out a life here, and after what that slimy Irish ball of smoke did to—“

“Calm down, Abaddon. I have not come for you.”

“Then what the hell do you want?” Even in the humanoid image she had chosen for this plane, her true form leaked through in her anger. Her eyes were like granite, hard and cold and shining with malice.

“Information.”

“About what?”

“Dean Winchester.”

“Don’t ever say that name in my presence!” Abaddon screamed, her anger becoming more tangible by the second. “That cowardly, pathetic—“

With a lazy flick, Death made a steel band appear over the Knight’s mouth. “In more direct language, if you please.” She glared at him, but stayed quiet when he removed the band.

After a deep breath, she asked “What do you want to know?”

“Has he done anything unusual lately? ‘Unusual’ in the earth-shattering sense, that is.”

“He has the First Blade,” Abaddon said breathlessly, sounding almost awed. “And the Mark of Cain. It’s how he was able to land me here.”

Thanking her for her cooperation, Death left the new Queen of Purgatory in peace.

-O-

Before reaching the next plane of reality, Death took a moment to stop and think.

Of course he would have known about the Mark if he’d been paying attention, but he hadn’t been. After the apocalypse he found himself less interested in the goings-on of the humans, and it wasn’t his fault if he missed a few things here and there.

Besides, that still didn’t explain the whole _shift in the fabric of reality_ thing.

Going to Hell didn't sound very appealing at the moment, so Death found himself on Earth for the first time in years.

-O-

Sam Winchester was 10 feet underground, standing in the kitchen of the old Men of Letters bunker. Death waited a moment before making himself visible to the human, though he wasn’t sure why. The boy was drinking coffee and staring at the wall in front of him, clearly lost in his thoughts. His  young face was drawn and pale. Death wondered suddenly what had happened in the Winchesters’ lives since the apocalypse. He had met with Sam once, of course, when the boy had been dying after the trials were nearly complete. But that brief exchange was hardly a taste at what horrors the boys had surely seen in those long years. None of that _had_ to happen, of course, and it wouldn’t have if things had gone according to plan… He was stalling now. He didn’t waste another moment.

“Hello, Sam Winchester.”

As expected, the boy dropped his mug in shock. It shattered to the stone floor with a sound like a gunshot, hot coffee splattering everywhere. After that, his reaction was disturbingly similar to Abaddon’s.

“You’re not— Dean isn’t dead! You can’t take him. I know it’s what he wants, but I can’t let that happen. Please.” Sam’s eyes were already brimming over with tears.

“I am not here to reap your brother, Sam. I’m here to find out what has happened to him.” Death replied calmly. Sam visibly relaxed, his shoulders losing some of their strain instantly.

“You don’t know?”

“I have been blissfully unaware of humanity’s activity since the apocalypse,” he explained patiently. Striding around Sam in order to get to the refrigerator, Death opened it and removed the leftover pizza box he knew was inside. People could say what they wanted about Earth, but there was no doubt about why Death liked the place: you couldn’t get food like this anywhere else in the universe. “and I have only changed that habit because something colossal has happened. Something that has affected every plane of reality. I was curious. You don’t happen to know anything about that, do you Sam?”

The Winchester gulped. He looked nervously at the hallway behind Death, who knew that Dean must be behind one of those doors. Beyond that, Sam was silent.

“Well?”

“I, uh—“ But he was interrupted by  familiar voice calling his name.

Death sensed the elder Winchester brother before he turned around to see him. The presence itself was foul, disturbing, and grotesque all at once. The inherent _wrongness_ of what he was feeling almost caught Death off guard, to the point that he couldn’t believe something so abhorrent could even exist in the first place. Turning to look upon the new Dean for the first time, Death had to fight to keep his face from betraying the disgust that he felt.

Where once there had been a human soul was now mask-like and gory; a demon’s decaying, rotting features had taken its place. “You let the Mark take over, I see.” Death said quietly, still trying to hide his surprise.

Sam jumped in quickly, “It was the only way to—“

“Are you here to take me or what?” Dean interrupted harshly. He was angry. Death couldn’t blame him.

“Do you want me to take you?”

“NO!” Sam yelled, stepping between Death and his brother. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Back off, Sam, you don’t know what this is like!” snarled Dean, moving so that he was in front of his brother once more. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t sign up to be a – a friggin’ _monster_. I was ready to die!”

“Dean, no! Please, man, you can’t leave me. You can’t.” Sam pleaded, tears filling his eyes once more.

Death began to think he had made a mistake in coming here. _Deciding_ who gets to live and die was far above his pay grade. That was Fate’s problem, but thanks to Dumb and Dumber here she was no longer in the equation. “It is ultimately your choice, Dean. If you want to die, I shall grant your wish.”

“That’s not fair!” Sam roared. “When I made the same decision you wouldn’t _let_ me, Dean! You took my choice away from me in order to satisfy yourself, and now you’re just going to fucking _abandon_ me like this?!”

“I—“ It seemed Dean hadn’t considered this. “Sam, you said that in the same situation, you would’ve let me die,” he said quietly.

“I LIED!”

“You didn’t have to come back as a goddamn _demon_ , Sam!” Dean yelled back. “I am a— an abomination. I’ve spent my _life_ hunting the thing that I am now, and I can’t— I just can’t do it, Sammy.”

“You can and you will.”

“If you would let me finish, Dean,” said Death dryly, finally digging into the pizza he had been ignoring. “It is ultimately your choice, but there is something you might want to know first.”

“Ok. What?”

“Castiel. I can heal that little Grace problem he’s having. He will be human again, but he will be safe.”

“Awesome! Do that. But why does it affect me?”

 “I thought you might want to stay alive. Keep your story more _Beauty and the Beast_ and less _Romeo and Juliet_. The less I’m involved the better.” Death said with a smirk.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t you _know_ , Dean?”

“Jesus fucking— No I don’t! Spit it out!”

“He’s in love with you.”

 


	2. Angelic Visitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death gets some much-needed information from an old friend. But not before he has to deal with the sass of three particular not-quite-humans who seem to enjoy pissing him off.

 “Bullshit.”

Death rolled his eyes. Trust a Winchester to be so stubborn he would deny the wisdom of a literally _omnipotent_ being. “Is it really so surprising, Dean? Surely even you aren’t that blind.”

“I’m— Yeah we’ve got that _profound bond_ or whatever, but love?! No way.” Dean’s eyes switched from green to black, presumably because he was stressed.

“If you haven’t figured it out yet, that’s hardly my problem,” Death said tonelessly. It was degrading enough that he was spending his time trying to save this stupid little space rock, and now apparently he was also playing matchmaker. “but I’d advise that you make the discovery soon, while I’m still feeling generous with my time.”

“You aren’t reaping him, if that’s what you mean.” Sam interjected, his brow furrowing with concern.

“Yes, I’m fairly certain you’re right about that, Sam,” said Death thoughtfully. He continued before Dean could open his mouth to protest, “Your brother might be in denial about the bond he shares with Castiel, but that doesn’t change the fact that their relationship is important. To _this_ world, anyway.”

Death started eating the leftover pizza thoughtfully, ignoring the outraged look on Dean Winchester’s face.

“Listen, asshole—“

“Dean, this is _Death_ you’re—“

“Shut up, Sam.” Dean crossed the room so that he was standing directly over Death, who continued chewing disinterestedly. “You may be clairvoyant or all-powerful or whatever, but you don’t know _jack_ about me and Cas, ok?”

Wiping the side of his mouth with a napkin, Death smiled softly at the boy’s ignorance. Oh to be young and foolish. “I know that Castiel recently gave up his army for you, and that you tore apart Purgatory looking for him, and that he—“

“All right, all right that’s enough thanks.” Dean growled, bowing his head and leaning on the table in front of him. Death smirked.

“Then you also understand that I know a great deal more about you lovebirds,” Dean visibly winced as Death said the word, which was amusing. “and your future.”

“Whatever. As long as we both _have_ a future.” said Dean gruffly.

“Everyone has a future, Mr. Winchester. The only question is which planes of reality it will play out in.”

“What, like Heaven or Hell?” Sam piped up suddenly, the furrow in his brow deepening.

“Precisely.”

“Neither.” growled the younger Winchester. “The only future Dean has is on Earth. Cas too.”

“That is not for me to decide.” Death replied casually, finishing the last bite of his pizza. The statement made Sam look angry, but Death didn’t bother to consider why.

“Can we cut the small talk, please?” Dean spat as he backed away from the table. He paced the room restlessly, eyes flickering between green and black to reflect his agitation. When his gaze settled on Death it was dangerously close to accusatory. “Are you gonna fix Cas or what?”

“Yes, but I have a few things to take care of first.“

“Didn’t you just say our _relationship_ or whatever is important to the fate of the universe? Cas should be top priority if that’s true, you dick.” snarled Dean, his eyes finally settling on black.

Death would never get used to the insolence of these pathetic creatures.

“You realize that every time you insult me is about as effective as a piece of bacteria wriggling uselessly on an elephant’s backside, don’t you?” drawled Death, flicking a piece of lint off his shoulder. “You’re embarrassing yourself, Dean. Besides the fact that you couldn’t even _begin_ to understand my priorities.”

He waited to see if the Winchesters had anything to say to that. Dean looked like he wanted to retort something, but Sam silenced him with a look. Inevitably the comment would have been idiotic anyway.

Death continued, “I will be back when I have more information, and I will bring your precious angel with me. Happy?”

“No. I’m still a fucking demon.”

“Not quite,” said Death tersely. Explaining everything to everyone was becoming wearisome. “Technically you’re a Knight of Hell, but I doubt you’ll be able to tap into the perks that come with that title until at least a few decades from now.”

“How is that any better?!”

“I didn’t say it was better or worse, I was simply stating a fact.” Death rose from his spot at the table, which caused both Winchesters to take a few steps back. It seemed that despite their unruly mouths the brothers were still intimidated after all. Interesting. “Thank you for your hospitality, however dismal. I’ll return when I’ve finished collecting my information.”

Death left the bunker before either Winchester could say another word.

-O-

His next stop was the Cleveland botanical garden.

_Odd_ , Death thought to himself as he entered the glass building, _that such a prominent angel would choose to come here of all places after the Fall_. To each his own, as it goes.

On the inside the building itself was completely empty. Well, it was full of dead bodies but for all intents and purposes “empty” was a suitable enough description. Death looked down at the carnage beneath his feet, feeling nothing but a distant sense of annoyance that these people had been here in the first place. It wasn’t that he regretted killing anyone (that would make his job almost impossible; he was good at remaining detached), he just didn’t like looking at the mess. But it was necessary if this conversation was going to happen in secret.

As Death knew he would be, the angel was standing in the center of the garden waiting for him. His arms were spread welcomingly and he looked regal despite the landscaper’s uniform his vessel was wearing. At least _some_ angels had a sense of decorum. Or, at the very least, knew their place.

“Joshua,” said Death mildly. “It’s good to see you again.”

Smiling quietly, the angel replied, “I wish I could say the same to you. But generally you only come to me when something’s gone wrong. What is it this time?”

“The Winchesters. Again.”

“Of course.” With a sigh, Joshua sat down on a nearby stone bench. He gestured courteously for Death to do the same, but the latter remained standing; he wasn’t expecting to stay too long. Joshua didn’t seem to care, and Death was struck again with a feeling like pride. A human would never act so politely.

Leaning casually on his cane, Death explained, “One Winchester in particular, to be precise.  You’re aware of the, ah, _legacy_ of that angel who was supposed to fall in love with a human?”

“You must understand, my old friend: God has not spoken to me in quite a long time. All I have are rumors, whispered through Heaven’s top ranks thousands of years ago.” Joshua said, then cocked his head to the side and frowned. “As for that particular tale: I heard it was an angel falling in love with a Knight of Hell. But there are none left, not after Abaddon…” his voice trailed off.

“And that’s why we need to talk,” sighed Death. He was really getting too old for this. “There’s a new Knight, and he’s currently on Earth with no knowledge of the power he possesses.”

“A _new_ Knight, you say?” At this, Joshua looked genuinely surprised. “That’s impossible. Lucifer himself handpicked them, a new one can’t just be plucked out of thin air. Not even the most powerful demon in all of creation could—“

“Cain himself seems to be responsible this time.” Death said, sitting down on the bench beside the angel at last. They had much to talk about if Joshua wasn’t even aware that Cain had turned up again out of the blue. Apparently the angel who had once been the most informed in all of Heaven was now just another one of the Fallen. “Dean Winchester has inherited the Mark. He used the First Blade to kill Abaddon.”

The blood drained from Joshua’s face. “So it’s true.”

“You know this already?”

“I know that this event will have _immense_ consequences. The Mark of Cain combined with a Knight of Hell? And an _untrained_ Knight at that? No human should wield that kind of power, especially not one as… chaotic as Dean Winchester.” Joshua’s voice was steady, but there was a strange glint in his eye that reminded Death of the look on the elderly’s faces when they knew he was coming for them. Death expected to see the fear on Joshua’s face, but not the relief.

“What kind of consequences?”

“It has been said that the last receiver of the Mark of Cain will follow in its first owner’s footsteps,” said Joshua heavily. “He is fated to rule Hell, to reinstate order there just as Cain did originally. But Cain was supposed to train him, not run off to live as a human in the middle of nowhere. Who knows what kind of damage an angry, powerful new Knight could do.”

Death groaned. “I am so sick of all of this, Joshua I really am.” In seconds, Death had conjured a glass of whiskey for himself and downed it in one gulp. He conjured another and drank that too, then offered the third to Joshua, who turned it down. “All the petty squabbling, the world ending, the way God’s plans keep getting mucked up by a few puny human beings.” Joshua nodded solemnly in agreement as Death continued, “Makes you realize why God took a hands-off approach in the end. I envy Him.”

There was a beat of silence as the two eternal beings considered this.

Death spoke first, wanting to keep the conversation going so he could leave. “So how do we stop him? From inevitably wreaking havoc on the universe because of a hissy fit?”

“According to the legend,” said Joshua. “love is the only thing that can get through to the new Knight. His one true love.”

“That is _painfully_ cheesy.”

Joshua shrugged. “It  worked for Cain. You remember Colette.”

“Barely. So you’re saying we have to find someone who’s in love with Dean Winchester?”

“Yes.”

Death smiled softly to himself. Maybe this wouldn’t be too difficult after all.

-O-

“Castiel.”

The angel, who had been bending over a desk presumably strategizing with the group of lieutenants around him, jumped at the sound of his name. He looked up to see Death standing before him, but none of the other angels in the room did the same. Death had made sure Castiel was the only one who could see and hear him. Castiel said a few quick words to the other angels, then practically ran to Death’s side.

“You’re back.” croaked the almost-fallen angel. Everything about him projected desperation. “Did you find out about Dean?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“Recounting it all would be a terrible waste of time,” drawled Death. This encounter had already dragged on longer than it needed to. Ideally, he’d have just grabbed the winged mess and dropped him off in the Men of Letters bunker for the Winchesters to deal with personally, but he was feeling generous today. “it would be far easier to just let you see for yourself.”

Castiel squinted at him angrily, but didn’t say anything.

“You know, it recently dawned on me that we’ve met before,” said Death conversationally. “I had forgotten for some reason, but you’re hardly recognizable now, Castiel. There was so much _power_ in you when you decided to play God.”

“I had other priorities then. Now my priority is Dean.” said the angel gruffly.

“Your priority was Dean then too, if I remember correctly. You just buried that fact beneath your plans for unifying Heaven.”

“It’s true that I pursued that particular path in order to keep Dean safe, but I realize now that my ultimate goal was not his well-being.” Castiel looked at his feet then, and if Death didn’t know any better he’d say the angel looked ashamed. “Therein lay my folly.”

“Your actions now, they are for Dean’s well-being?”

“Everything I do is for Dean.”

Death looked around at the flurry of activity surrounding them. Angels surrounded by charts and paperwork and maps and lists. “Seems to me that you’re trying to unite Heaven again.”

“This task is temporary. It’s keeping me busy while I stay out of Dean’s way. I don’t know what’s going on with him, but he values his personal space. My intention is to give that to him whenever I must.”

Death had to admire the angel’s selflessness. This couldn’t be easy for him. “I can take you to him now, if you want.”

Castiel nodded. “I would like to see him.”

-O-

The two of them arrived in the Men of Letters bunker seconds later. Death mentally prepared himself to see a sappy, mushy reunion between the two not-quite-yet-lovers. He was not, as it turned out, prepared for what _actually_ happened.

Castiel lunged forward as soon as he saw Dean, wrapping his fingers angrily around the new Knight’s neck with a fierce scream of rage and despair.

Apparently Death wasn’t nearly as omnipotent as he thought.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to update - it should happen on a weekly basis (or close to that) from now on :) I've plotted for 6 chapters, so that gives you dudes some idea of how long this will probably end up being. Thanks so much for reading!! Feedback is definitely appreciated ♥


	3. A Graceful Ascension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two supernatural beings get a promotion, and Death finds himself in the middle of another petty argument that could ruin the fate of the universe. What else is new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a bit of gory imagery at the end of this chapter... It's very brief and not explicit, but if you've got a really weak stomach for that kind of thing just be aware.

Death sighed as Castiel wrapped his hands around Dean Winchester’s neck.

It wasn’t like the fallen (falling? Whatever.) angel could hurt the Knight, so Death wasn’t worried. He was just unhappy that the idiots were creating even more unnecessary problems for themselves. Problems that Death, as new Matchmaker of the Universe, was going to have to solve. With a flick of his wrist Castiel was flung away from the Knight of Hell, crashing unceremoniously against one of the bunker’s steel walls.

Unsurprisingly, the fool immediately tried to attack Dean again.

“Dean, you—!“ the angel roared, launching himself across the room. Death restrained him with another flick of the wrist, freezing him on the spot.

“Calm yourself, Castiel,” drawled Death, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t bring you here to instigate an event of domestic violence.”

“He—!”

“Stop.” Death snapped his fingers and sealed Castiel’s mouth shut. “I don’t have the patience for this right now. You will discuss your issues rationally, like the adults that you are.”

“I don’t know what the _fuck_ his problem is, but—“ Dean snarled. Death interrupted him by sealing the Knight’s mouth shut too. Sam stepped forward angrily, but Death stopped him with a single glare. Clenching his jaw, Sam took a seat. At least one Winchester had a bit of sense stuffed into his over-layered body.

“I said _rationally_ , Dean.” said Death, raising an eyebrow at each of them in turn. “I am going to remove the binds on your mouths now, and it would be wise for you to follow my instructions this time.” Death did as he said he would, after which Dean and Castiel simply glared at each other.

It was Sam who broke the silence. “Cas – what’s the matter? Why are you upset?”

“What I don’t understand,” growled Castiel, looking at Dean rather than his brother, his face crumpling into a furious scowl. “is how you could just _let_ this happen to you! How could you be so stu—!“

“Castiel.” warned Death sharply.

The angel took a deep breath before continuing evenly, “How did you let it get this far, Dean?! Are you really so self-centered that you would be willing to become a— an _abomination_ in order to feel powerful?! “

“I DIDN’T LE—“ Dean roared, surging toward the angel like a humanoid wall of lava.

Death didn’t sense any intent to harm Castiel in Dean’s demeanor, but if they carried on with the yelling he would be here all day, so he interrupted, “What part of _rationally_ did you not understand?”

“I didn’t want this, Cas!” the Knight snarled. “This is the _last_ fucking thing I wanted, you asshole. I was ready to die, I _wanted_ to die because—“

“Because you’re a selfish—“

“Shut the fuck _up_ Cas, I swear to your useless father I will—“

“HEY!” This time it was Sam’s turn to stop them, to Death’s relief.

Dean closed his eyes and tipped his head back like a parched man standing in a rainstorm. His voice cracked with emotion, which was surprising considering that he was technically inhuman now. “I wanted to die because I didn’t like what the Mark was doing to me, okay? I _hated_ it– I was such an _asshole_. And the need to kill everything was – I just didn’t want it. At all. But the only way out was to die, so I wasn’t exactly crying over my own stupid ending. Better to have a funeral than to be a freak.”

The room went silent for a solid seven seconds. When Castiel spoke, it was like someone had dropped a box of glass jars onto the cement floor, despite the softness of his voice.

“You’re not a freak.”

“Thanks, Cas, I feel much better now.” Dean hissed, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel—“ Castiel’s voice rose again, dangerously close to yelling again. His frustration was bubbling under the surface of his skin, Death didn’t need any special powers to see that much. The angel sighed and stopped talking, apparently with the intention of ensuring things didn’t escalate again. “If you didn’t want this to happen, how did you come back? Sam doesn’t have that kind of power. So…?”

The room went silent again. Death waited for the creature he knew was lurking in the shadows to make itself known. A few seconds later, Crowley stepped forward into the light and raised his hand almost jovially. “That would be my doing.”

There was a pregnant pause, which was interrupted by Castiel leaping across the room again with a roar of rage. “You son of a bitch!” The angel didn’t bother trying to choke anyone this time; instead he punched the King of Hell in the face so hard that Crowley fell to the floor. Death dragged the angel away before he could do any more damage, despite how amusing the scene was.

Snarling like a wild animal, Castiel tried to get back to Crowley, only to find his feet stuck to the floor. The demon rose to his feet gingerly, glaring at Castiel  and wiping blood away from his nose and mouth. “What, feathers? You’d rather that I had let your boy toy die?”

“I’d rather that he at least get a choice in the matter!” Castiel spat. “You filthy, scummy, no-good—“  But this time Death didn’t need to interrupt the angel, because Castiel stopped himself from talking. He gasped in pain suddenly, falling to his knees and coughing up sticky blood all over the floor.

“CAS!” Dean yelled, lunging forward to kneel beside the angel. “What did you do to him, Crowley?!”

“I didn’t—“

“It’s his Grace,” said Death coolly, looking to avoid another argument. “Or rather, his lack of Grace. The stolen one is rejecting its new vessel. I tried to warn him against getting so angry, and now it appears all the excitement has sped up the process.”

Castiel coughed again, more blood splattering onto the floor as he did so, his face pale and sweaty in the dim light. Dean’s body tensed. He placed a hand firmly on the angel’s chest, the other resting gently on Castiel’s back. As if that would help at all.

“Is he gonna be all right?!” Dean asked desperately, keeping his eyes fixed on the angel.

“No.” Death said simply. No point beating around the bush.

“He’s _dying_?” Sam choked, shock written all over his features.

“He’s not gonna die.” Dean said firmly, turning to look at Death. “You’re _Death_ , for crying out loud. If you can’t stop this, no one can. And you can save him, right?”

Death felt something tugging at his core, and after a moment’s consideration he concluded that it was pity. Repressing this feeling as soon as possible, he shook his head and offered a useless, “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s not good enough!” shouted Dean. Beside the Knight, Castiel trembled weakly, sinking further toward the floor with a groan. Looking panicked, Dean moved one hand to the angel’s cheek and whispered something reassuring into his ear. When he turned back to look at Death again, his eyes were ablaze with fear. He commanded, “Fix him. Please.”

Before Death could respond, the angel said softly, “Dean…”

“It’s ok, Cas. You’re gonna be ok. I’ll—“

“No, Dean, I—“

“Just relax, man. We can fix this, we’re gonna—“

“Dean!” Sam cut the older Winchester off hurriedly, glaring at him over Castiel’s shoulder. He softened his voice to say, “Just listen to Cas for a second, dude. He might not even want to be saved.”

Death watched with interest as something changed in Dean’s face, and was surprised to see that it did not shift to anger. Something about his brother’s words and demeanor had calmed Dean, or perhaps it was just the fact that Sam was the one speaking. Either way, Dean relaxed visibly, and Death really couldn’t complain about that.

“Sorry, Cas,” Dean intoned quietly, speaking directly into the angel’s ear. Castiel, whose eyes had been closed and looked just about ready to slip into unconsciousness, perked up at the sound of Dean’s voice. His eyes fluttered open and he struggled to keep himself upright. Death only heard what Dean said next because he was an extremely powerful supernatural being; a human would not have heard these intimately whispered words. But Death did. “If you… If you want to die that’s completely up to you. You just said you would have wanted me to have a choice, it’s only fair that you get one too. I won’t – I would never want to take that away from you. Not after… you know.”

Somehow, the angel managed a small smile. “Thank you, Dean.”

“I mean, I would understand. Ok? I know being human was hard for you last time so— so I would understand if you didn’t want to go through it again. But you should know that I, uh…” Dean cleared his throat and looked away from Castiel as though he was embarrassed. “I feel bad about kicking you out last time. Really bad. And I’m sorry. If you decide to be human again, I _swear_ I will do everything in my power to make it easier this time around, all right? No matter what.”

Castiel looked happy at that, despite the fact that he was coughing up blood a few seconds later. Sam knelt beside his brother and handed the angel a tissue. Dean looked at the younger Winchester gratefully while Castiel wiped his mouth.

“Thank you, both of you,” Castiel flashed another shaky smile at the brothers. “But I just want to be an angel again.”

“That might not be an option, Cas,” said Sam sadly, glancing over his shoulder to look at Death,  who noted the pleading look in Sam’s eyes but remained silent. “It might be either death or humanity, dude, if there even _is_ an option. I’m sorry.”

“Can you make me an angel again?”Castiel croaked, looking up at Death.

Sighing, Death said, “I may be able to help you, but it would only be temporary. I can’t get your Grace back, unfortunately, but I can repair your vessel enough to be able to let you keep using the stolen one. At least for a short amount of time.”

“Yeah? And what happens after that?” Dean demanded with a snarl.

“I don’t know.” Death was being honest here. It wasn’t like this kind of thing happened every day.

“Fucking perfect.” spat Dean sarcastically. At the exact same time, Castiel said, “Do it.”

Both Winchesters looked at the angel like he had just announced his intention to walk on the sun. “ _What_?!” Dean hissed.

Calmly, Castiel looked at Dean and explained, “I have some things to take care of in Heaven first.”

“We don’t know what will happen after Death’s stupid band-aide solution works, Cas!” said Dean. “You could die when your mojo runs out again!”

“Yes.”

“But Cas—“

“You said you would respect my choice to die, Dean.” Castiel pointed out quietly. Death got the sense that he wasn’t rubbing it in, just soothing Dean in the most rational way possible. Apparently it worked, because Dean’s face relaxed into a mask of pained understanding.

“Right. Yeah. Sorry, Cas. Do what you think is best.”

Castiel nodded once, then looked up at Death. His entire body was shaking, covered in a thin sheet of sweat while his eyes grew more unfocused by the second. The angel was going to die if they didn’t do something soon, and Castiel realized this. “I would appreciate it if you fixed the Grace, please.”

“Politeness always helps.” Death said, dropping to one knee so that he was at eye-level with the dying angel. He reached out a hand with his physical persona, while at the same time reaching deep into the consciousness of the interplanetary, multidimensional creature underneath. Drawing from a power older than Time itself, Death concentrated and allowed himself to look past the dying vessel before him. Past those sad blue eyes, slowing blood flow, and failing organs. He saw Castiel’s true form, the tatters in his wings and the fading light of the Grace that was supposed to be holding it all together. Death reached out and touched the vessel’s forehead, wordlessly chanting the necessary Healing spells. “This might hurt.”

Death barely noticed, but Dean clutched the angel tighter. He watched the Grace begin to knit itself back together, and somewhere in the back of his physical consciousness Death noted that someone (probably the angel) was screaming in pain. With a flash of blue light, the cracks in the Grace fused together again and the tatters threaded back into fullness once more. The Grace was intact again, for now. Drawing away, Death brought himself back to the reality of Earth.

Castiel was panting, but the color was returning to his cheeks and his eyes were bright.  Dean had one hand on his shoulder and another on the back of the angel’s neck, and was whispering reassurances into his ear again. His vessel was still getting its bearings, but Death could see that it wouldn’t be long before he was back to normal. With the exception of the wings, of course.

“Is he ok?” Sam asked worriedly, and Death realized he was talking to him.

“For now.” Death replied coolly.

Castiel tore his eyes away from Dean and looked up. “Thank you.”

“Do you feel all right, dude?” Dean said, his eyes switching to black again. Castiel started slightly when he saw that, but nodded his reassurance. The eyes went back to green immediately.

“I have to go. I’ll be back when I can.” said Castiel urgently, rising to his feet at last. He turned to look at Death again. “Would you mind taking me to Heaven? I know you’re busy, but it would save me a lot of walking.”

“I like you, angel.” said Death.  “You’re well-mannered.” All this human interaction was making him sappy. Without another word, he nodded goodbye to the Winchesters, then gripped Castiel’s upper arm and traveled to the next plane, Dean Winchester’s angry shout of “Cas, wait!” still ringing in his ears.

-O-

Purgatory looked completely different these days.

The vast, gloomy forest had been replaced with a never-ending fortress of stone. The dead monsters of the universe now resided inside, each species designated certain floors and wings. Doorless and windowless, escape wasn’t an option.

Death made his way to the center of said fortress, to a massive throne room adorned with old bones and rivers of dark blood. The throne at the end of the hall was apparently made of some of those bones, polished to a blindingly shiny hue, some of them still dripping with blood and guts. Death wrinkled his nose; Abaddon may have been clever, but she was also barbaric.

“Hello, Abaddon,” Death said quietly, striding with an assured calmness through the throne room. The former Knight of Hell looked temporarily terrified, but she quickly wiped the fear from her face and replaced it with a condescending disinterest.

“It’s’ Your Majesty’ now, actually,” she replied coolly. Death smirked.

“If you honestly believe I would ever call you that, you’re delusional,” said Death. He finally reached the throne, leaving a wake of unconscious monsters behind him. No need to have a bunch of half-witted murderous abominations listening in to this private conversation. “But I do have to admire what you’ve done with the place. Everything is much more… organized this way. I like it.”

Abaddon rose from her place on the throne, meeting Death with her chin raised proudly in the air. Her stiletto heels clacked on the stone floor like impatient nails on a table, and with the combination of her true form and her vessel’s image combining like that it was probably horrific to anyone who wasn’t Death himself. Her true face was rotting away as usual, but here in Purgatory she allowed half of her vessel’s face to show through, along with her talons, wings, and bony vertebrae. It wasn’t a pleasant sight.

“Too bad your approval is worthless to me,” she laughed, pacing the floor in front of Death triumphantly. “I’ve taken this place over, you old fool. This is _my_ kingdom now.”

“I doubt anyone would contest that.” said Death, fighting to keep the irritation out of his voice. “But you should consider my offer before you start bragging about this new… kingdom, or whatever you want to call this place.”

“What offer?”

“I want you to be Queen of Hell,” Death looked down at his cane thoughtfully. “I like what you’ve done with Purgatory, and I think Hell could use a face lift too. You seem ambitious, creative, and favorable to structure, so I assumed you would be good for the role. But if you’re content to stay here, you can of course d— “

“Why would I _ever_ want to stay in this dump when I could be ruling Hell?!” Abaddon’s face (while becoming no less horrible) seemed to light up with excitement. She stopped pacing and licked her lips greedily. But then she stopped as if realizing something, and asked, “What about Crowley?”

“I don’t like him,” Death replied simply, raising an eyebrow. “He recently altered the universe to keep his son alive, and if I hadn’t been there to reap the boy I’m afraid things have gone very badly. He has no foresight, and I’m unhappy with the way that he treated Dean Winchester recently. Therefore, I am offering the job to you.”

“Since when do you have that kind of juice, Grandpa?”

_Just as brash as she ever was_ , Death thought, shaking his head with disapproval. He snapped his fingers, and within moments Abaddon was standing neck-deep in the middle of a brown swamp. Trying not to get goop in her mouth, she screamed in anger.

“I am as old as the universe itself, you petulant little child,” Death said calmly, watching as the Knight struggled before him. “I have enough… _juice_ to do whatever I want. Would you like to become the next Queen of Hell or not?”

Abaddon was glaring at him, but he didn’t care. “Yes.”

Smiling, Death snapped his fingers again and returned them to the Purgatory fortress. “Excellent.”

Abaddon wrinkled her nose at the swamp gunk that still clung to her vessel, but apparently decided to ignore it. “When’s the coronation, then?”

Rolling his eyes, Death gripped her arm and zapped them both to Hell. “Throw yourself a party, if you must. This little chat has taken up enough of my time, thank you. Good luck.”

He left before she could respond, wondering (yet again) how he ended up being the one to clean up God’s mess. As he thought about it, he suddenly questioned when he had even started _caring_ about this universe.

When he finally finished this ugly business he’d have to reap a whole truck full of politicians and lawyers to make himself feel better. Until then, he would just have to battle on.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just could NOT motivate myself to write this chapter, I'm so sorry... Maybe you can forgive me because it's almost as long as the first two chapters combined? Either way, thanks so much for reading! Things are finally going to start getting more interesting in the next few installments, I think :)


	4. A Pair of Summonings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start falling apart for the Winchester brothers, just as they begin sliding into place for Death.

Death felt a familiar tug on his consciousness a few weeks later, and he wasn’t happy about it.

He suddenly found himself hurtling through reality against his will, the force of the spell pulling on his core with an unnecessary tightness. But the discomfort wasn’t nearly as bad as the annoyance he could feel buzzing in his mind. Whoever was responsible for this humiliating deed was going to be punished. Severely.

His physical form manifested one molecule at a time. In actuality the process only took a few milliseconds, but it felt like a few million years to Death. When he opened his physical form’s eyes he found himself in a familiar underground building with Sam Winchester standing before him. Not surprising.

“This had better be for something _very_ important, Sam.” Death kept his voice even; anger was weakness, and he was far too powerful to let it show without his permission. It helped that the younger Winchester looked appropriately terrified, but that wasn’t quite enough to dispel Death’s fury.

“I’m sorry,” rasped Sam.

Death glanced at his wrists, which were shackled in threads of golden light. One would think that the physical manifestation of a spell that could trap something as powerful as _Death_ would look a little more intimidating. The universe was weird. “I thought you apes would have learned from the first time you tried to bind me,” intoned Death, his voice dangerously guttural. “not to do so again.”

“Again, I’m really, really sorry, it’s just…“ Sam gulped. Death took a moment to look at him, _really_ look for the first time, and was slightly surprised to see that the boy’s soul was a roiling mass of desperation. Physically, Sam Winchester looked like he’d been trapped on a sinking ship for a few days; exhausted and angry and pretty damn stressed out. But that was nothing compared to how his soul looked.

“What’s the matter, Sam?” So Death had a bit of a soft spot for this human. Sue him. “Where’s your brother?”

“He’s… out.” Sam shifted from foot to foot, biting his bottom lip with his eyes downcast. “Uh – that’s part of the problem.”

“Be direct, Sam. I don’t have time to pussyfoot around.”

“Sorry. He’s been really restless lately, and he feels the need to – to _kill_ things, so he’s, uh, out looking for some criminals to gank. I guess.” Sam exhaled as though he had confessed to killing the people himself.

Death, however, was not impressed. “That’s why you called me here? To stop your enraged newborn demon brother from killing useless nobodies?”

“First of all, they aren’t useless nobodies,” Sam spat, his voice suddenly fierce and firm. The boy’s back straightened and he stopped looking at the floor. “That’s the point. Just because they made a few bad choices doesn’t mean that they’re bad people. And they don’t deserve to die just because my brother is angry.”

“Sam, in the grand scheme of things, I’m sure a few dead thugs will hardly—“

“I don’t care about the grand scheme!” shouted Sam suddenly. “I care about the fact that my brother is out there _murdering_ people!”

“You didn’t seem to care about that when there were demons inside the people you were so happily stabbing with that convenient little knife,” sniffed Death haughtily. He really wasn’t in the mood for this.

“That was different,” Sam said, his voice intentionally lowered to a more menacing pitch. “Those were emergencies; our lives were on the line. Dean is just— he’s just doing this for _fun_.” Sam shivered.

“Well, if you don’t know _why_ he’s decided to turn into a mass-murderer now of all times, then I’m afraid I can’t—“

“Oh, I know exactly why,” Sam said brusquely. “It’s because of Cas.”

Well that wasn’t entirely expected.

“Castiel?” Death asked, just in case he had somehow misunderstood. It was unlikely, but possible. When Sam simply nodded, Death decided he needed more information. “Explain.”

“Dean was really cut up when the guy left,” Sam said quickly. “He and Cas are pros at abandoning each other, and this time Dean just… snapped. Maybe it’s because Cas is dying, or the Mark is getting to him, or a combination of both. I don’t know. Whatever it is, Dean is upset and he’s getting unmanageable. Even for me.”

Death raised an incredulous eyebrow. “And what do you want me to do about it?”

“Make Cas human again,” Sam begged. “Drag his ass back from Heaven and bring him to Dean, where he belongs. They’re— they care a lot about each other.”

Pausing for a moment to consider what the younger Winchester had said, Death weighed his options. On one hand, his matchmaking days would probably be over if the angel stayed with Dean. On the other, forcing a rebellious little angel back to earth sounded like a lot of effort for such an uncertain outcome. Death looked back at Sam and sighed.

“Before I drag your feathered friend across two or three different planes of reality against his will,” said Death coolly. “has Dean tried simply _praying_ to him?”

“He tried,” murmured Sam, his voice sounding almost broken with sadness. “Demons can’t pray.”

Curious about how _that_ little exchange had gone, Death allowed himself to enter Sam’s subconscious memories. The scene unfolded before him, just as Sam had seen it…

_Dean kneeling on the floor beside a bed. Hands clasped and obsidian eyes shut tightly against the world. The door was cracked open a few inches, and through it a low voice could be heard muttering desperate prayers into thin air._

_“Please, man, I need you to come back. Please come back. I don’t – I don’t like who I become when you’re not here. I’m so fucking angry all the time, Cas, and being next to you… Hell, just_ seeing _you… it calms me down. I don’t know why. Please, please, please Castiel, if you can hear me come back to the bunker…. I need you to keep me human.”_

_A pause while Dean waited for some sort of reply. Sam’s vision shifted down to his own hands, which were trembling. Chest rising and falling like the tide, steadfast and churning at the same time. Half a minute later, Dean’s voice filled the air once more. Yelling._

_“Cas! CASTIEL! You selfish bastard – all you care about is Heaven, but they don’t give a fuck about you, Cas! Don’t you see that? Half of those assholes want you dead, and yet you’re up there trying to_ help _them while I’m stuck down here by myself. Get back here and HELP ME! Please, Cas. Please. I—“_

_Silence. For fourteen seconds. Sam stayed still. A shaky breath from Dean before continuing._

_“I’m sorry. Sorry, Cas, sorry. Fuck. I just – I care about you, okay you giant baby in a trench coat? More than that, I guess. I love you. And I’m only saying that because I know you can’t hear me, because I’m a fucking monster now and it sucks. I disgust myself, so I know I must disgust you. But I can live with that. Because you should have been disgusted with me from the moment we met, and for some damn reason you weren’t. Probably because you’re an idiot, but whatever. That’s actually why I lo— nah. Never mind. This is fucking pointless.”_

Death exited the memory before Dean could turn around to find Sam watching. “I thought praying might have worked because Dean was human so recently, but it was a long shot.” He shrugged, speaking as though he had not just delved into the past to see for himself.

Sam was looking nervous again. “So will you go get him? Please?”

“First I want to know if _you’ve_ tried praying to the bird brain, Sam,” said Death coolly, picking at a stray thread in his black coat. “You’re still human, after all. It should work.”

“I—“ Sam didn’t have to say another word; Death knew from his posture that the boy had done no such thing. “I didn’t want to bother Cas. It’s ok when Dean does it, but Cas doesn’t – our friendship isn’t—“

“So you’re telling me,” Death’s voice was like an icy dagger, low and dangerous and full of freezing fury. “that you summoned me here, _bound_ me, and demanded me to spend my precious time and energy on a tedious _errand_ , just because you didn’t want to _bother_ the angel?”

“Uh… yes.”

“Unbind me. Now. Or I will reap every soul within five hundred miles of this place.”

“Please—“

“You heard me, Sam.”

The younger Winchester’s face fell. “I’m sorry,” he said tiredly, stepping forward to undo the spell. When the bonds were broken, Death spared him one last scathing look before disappearing into thin air, the force of his anger scorching a small crater into the cement floor.

-O-

Despite his fury, Death did spend some time thinking about whether or not he should bring Castiel to Earth.

In the end he decided that he should go to Heaven anyway, if only to see how things were being handed now that Castiel was apparently in charge. If things were good, Dean would just have to suck it up and live without his little sweetheart. If things were bad…. Well, that could be dealt with too.

When he arrived in Heaven’s central realm, Death was somewhat surprised to find it abuzz with activity.

Angels were scurrying left and right, carrying stacks of paper, boxes full of what looked like human clothing, and small jars of blood. What had previously been a great hall of stone and impressive ornamentation now appeared to be a massive office space. Desks were crammed together as far as the eye could see, with angels sitting behind them talking animatedly into telephone receivers. Most of the papers, clothing, and blood seemed to be moving back and forth from one corner, where a portal of light was shining. Angels kept popping in and out of said portal, and Death realized it was the doorway to Earth. Shaking his head in disdain at the chaos around him, he focused his attention on trying to find Castiel.

It didn’t take long. The newly-restored angel was right in the center of the fray, surrounded by five or six small clusters of angelic soldiers, who were all listening to him intently. Death honed in on that particular spot, listening from afar.

“…you get to Earth, don’t forget to keep your jar of blood handy. You’ll need it to summon each fallen brother or sister. Every piece of paper that you receive will tell you the name and relative location of the fallen ones. They will not always be amenable to your efforts, so keep your wits about you. I will be—“

Death had heard enough. So Castiel was trying to bring the rest of the angels back into Heaven, was he? Despite the absolute chaos around him, Death couldn’t help but feel a little impressed. When the little bird brain had said he had things to do, he meant it. Already the idea to make him human again was looking weak, but he wanted a second opinion. Just to be sure.

Death scanned the room, searching for another angel who looked like they might know something. His attention was caught by a female in the corner who was holding a clip board. She seemed to be directing a cluster of angels who had just arrived through the portal towards another row of desks, where human clothes were being collected. Nodding appreciatively, Death strode over to where she was standing.

“Hello,” Death said quietly, standing behind her. She jumped slightly, but smiled when she turned to face him. “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Castiel.”

“You’re Death, aren’t you?” she said quietly, placing her clip board on the desk to her immediate right. “Castiel told us about you. My name is Hannah; I would be happy to answer any questions you might have, to the best of my ability.”

That was easy.

Death smiled wanly. “Do you find Castiel’s leadership acceptable?”

“More than acceptable!” Hannah gushed. “It’s amazing, what he does. We have needed a leader for a long time now, and Castiel has more than met the challenge. He—“

“I don’t actually need any details.” Death interrupted quickly. “I think that should be sufficient. Thank you for your time.” The angel bowed her head respectfully and returned to her work. Death was grateful that she didn’t ask any probing questions. Sometimes he liked interacting with angels, when they weren’t too pretentious; they were straightforward, rational thinkers. He wished he could say the same for humans.

Satisfied that what he was seeing did indeed match with what actually happened on a daily basis, Death left Heaven to function on its own. Dean Winchester would just have to get over his broken heart, because currently the Knight’s boyfriend was serving a much more useful purpose.

-O-

Not even a full month later, the all-too-familiar tug of a summoning spell was pulling at his core again, and this time Death was livid. As soon as he felt it, he decided bitterly that whoever was responsible for this humiliation was going to get reaped on the spot.

That was, until he saw that Dean Winchester was doing the summoning.

Still enraged, but unable to do anything about it (stupid Fate and her stupid rules), Death rolled his eyes and watched the golden threads waver around his wrists in almost a bored way. “What is it this time, Dean?”

“Bring him back to me. Now.”

Death looked up from his own hands, shocked at how wrecked Dean Winchester’s voice sounded. The Knight was positively _seething_ with rage. His eyes weren’t even flickering between green and black anymore, now they just stayed on the latter. And they were red-rimmed, like he had been crying, but Death knew that was impossible. Knights of Hell didn’t cry. Dean’s physical body reeked of stale sweat, liquor, and blood. A dark, congealing liquid that looked an awful lot like guts was splattered all over his clothing, but the Knight didn’t seem to mind. His hair was matted, teeth bared into a permanent snarl, and a feral glint rested in his ebony eyes. Most worrisome of all was the fact that he was clutching the First Blade so tightly that his knuckles were white under all the blood and dirt.

“Dean.” said Death calmly. “Everything is—“

“BRING HIM BACK TO ME!”

A wave of boiling hot fury rolled forward from the Knight’s shaking form, an actual physical force that would have surely knocked a human off their feet. Death waited patiently for it to recede before speaking again.

“Where is Sam?”

“Locked up in the basement,” Dean spat. “He didn’t want me to summon you, so I locked him up.”

“And your demon friend?”

“Crowley?” Dean actually laughed. It was a sound that made even Death’s  hair stand on end. He didn’t doubt that any normal being would be chilled to the core after hearing a sound like that. “Oh, I killed him weeks ago, you old fool. And I’ll kill you too if you keep Cas away from me anymore.”

So the Knight had killed the former King. Death didn’t bother to wonder why; the way that Dean was acting right now, he wouldn’t be surprised if Crowley was dead just for saying Dean’s name with the wrong inflection. Besides, that solved the universe’s whole demons-fighting-over-who-rules-Hell dilemma. More importantly, however, Dean Winchester was demanding that the angel return to Earth, and that just wouldn’t do. Not now, not that both Heaven and Hell had decent, organized, unopposed rulers. The balance of the universe was so close to perfect, he could almost taste it. No, Castiel was staying right where he was.

“And if I refuse?”

Dean smirked. “I’ll kill you too.”

“Will you, now?” Death laughed. Dean’s face, if possible, crumpled to become even more infuriated. “Your angel is busy. But if you ever summon me in this way again, I will reap him and there will be nothing you can do about it. Is that clear?”

Dean’s eyes flashed with anger and his teeth actually _gnashed_. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Dean, you may be a big bad scary Knight now,” drawled Death, meeting Dean’s gaze evenly. “but your power _pales_ in comparison to my own. Do not test me.”

Dean looked like he was going to retort, but blessedly kept his mouth closed.

“Let me go, Dean.”

The Knight did so with a scream of fury.

-O-

Two days later, the universe trembled again.

This time Death knew why immediately: Dean Winchester had entered Hell once more, this time as a Knight intent on forcing the Queen from her throne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Pacing a story correctly has always been difficult for me, but for some reason it seems even harder with this fic. Maybe because I'm not used to writing for an omnipotent character who would literally only show up to certain scenes because he was forced to be there. Anyway, I hope you dudes enjoyed this chapter! Thanks so much for reading! ♥
> 
> P.S. - How about that cliffhanger, eh? I'm so excited to write this next chapter. Oh man.


	5. Battlegrounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One battle ends as another begins.

The inevitable battle for Hell’s throne wasn’t nearly as dramatic as Death had envisioned.

He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Dean Winchester possessed many merits, but he didn’t have the imagination that some of his demonic predecessors had exemplified. Of course, his unfortunate lack of finesse was also due to the fact that he had only recently become a demon. And also because he was basically just a fireball of rage and vengeance, intent on achieving his goal using whatever means necessary. Death couldn’t really blame him if those means simply didn’t include beautiful fighting techniques. Still, he was glad Abaddon was there to keep things interesting. Invisible to all, Death made himself comfortable on one of Hell’s many black mountains to watch the battle unfold.

Far below, in the very center of Hell, Dean Winchester and Abaddon were circling each other like a pair of wildcats. The First Blade was clutched between Dean’s fingers, the sword of a long-dead angel held securely between Abaddon’s. Both adversaries were alternating between their true forms and their human vessels, no doubt in an attempt to intimidate each other. Wings, claws, smoke, horns, and miles of rotting flesh melded grotesquely with the figures of a redheaded Woman of Letters and a freckled hunter. After a few moments of this nonsense, Abaddon finally had the wisdom to get things started.

“It’s a pleasure to see you, Dean,” she said sweetly, smiling like she had just been graciously complimented.

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” snarled her opponent. Clearly Dean wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

“I thought it would be obvious!” Abaddon trilled, still keeping her tone sweet and light. “I’m glad for the opportunity to get my revenge. The way you killed me wasn’t very dignified, Dean. In fact, some would call it downright _inhumane_.” She paused to laugh, a harsh, mocking sound that reverberated off the surrounding mountains. “Of course, now that I know you’re a monster incapable of any human emotion, the joke—“

“Yeah I get it, thank you.” Dean snapped. “Are you gonna fight me or not?”

“And why exactly would you want to fight me, you child?”

“I need your army.” said Dean, his voice no more than a growl of contempt.

“For what, exactly?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Abaddon sighed like a disappointed parent. “Suit yourself. But my army is hard to control without a disciplined leader.”

Dean smiled wickedly, his leathery wings flaring behind him in a clear threat, teeth glinting in the flames. “That’s why I’m here for your crown, bitch.”

“Oh, darling,” Abaddon replied with an equally malicious grin. “you may be here to burn my castle down, but in case you hadn’t noticed,” she paused, looking gleefully at the Hellfire dancing around her. Her eyes settled back on Dean as she finished, “it’s already burning.”

A fraction of a second later, she was launching herself at Dean with a fierce roar.

The two Knights crashed together with a sound like a pair of freight trains colliding. Dean was chaos, fury, and unstoppable hatred flinging himself relentlessly at his opponent, while Abaddon seemed to be having fun. She was smiling, her movements clipped and controlled and perfectly formed; exactly the way she was trained. Death had to admit he was mildly interested in the clash of their opposing styles.

The First Blade thudded dully against Abaddon’s angel blade every time the edges crashed together. Neither creature had yet managed to harm the other, and it seemed they simultaneously realized that regular swordplay wasn’t going to cut it this time. Both threw their respective blades to the ground with a snarl. The way this had gone so far, Death was half expecting the Knights to simply tackle each other like a pair of feral animals and carry on with fangs and claws, but that didn’t happen.

Instead, Abaddon raised a fist, shouted a brief spell, and raised a jagged spear of rock from the ground under Dean’s feet.

The other Knight cried out in shock and dodged out of the way just in time, nearly stumbling as he did so. Eyes angry and teeth bared, Dean retaliated by manipulating a ball of Hellfire into existence and hurling it at Abaddon. She dodged it easily, and before Dean could even wipe the triumphant grin from his face she was hurling the guts of a volcano at his horned head. He slammed his foot on the ground with purpose, and suddenly a wall of solid sheetrock was ascending like a fast-growing flower, effectively shielding Dean from the onslaught of lava.

“Are we having fun yet?” taunted Abaddon, laughing cruelly.

Dean hissed and launched himself into the air, his long tail lashing out at Abaddon from above. The horned tip just barely caught her in the face. She growled as she touched her cheek; her fingers came away bloody. Thrusting an arm forward with a screech of anger, Abaddon used pure strength of will to drag Dean back to her level. He yelped as his fragile wings hit the ground hard and tangled around his body. The other Knight used the time to compose herself, lowering into a tiger-like crouch. When Dean finally regained his balance he was spitting ash out of his mouth and he looked _furious_.

“I’m gonna strangle you with your own intestines, you—“

“You’re all bark and no bite, little boy,” Abaddon mocked. She wasn’t even looking at him, as though he were a pesky fly who would eventually just go away. Death found this amusing, considering the fact that at the moment _Dean_ was the only one who’d managed to draw blood.

The younger Knight snarled and flung himself at Abaddon once more, but at the last second she opened her wings and rocketed out of harm’s way. Floating lazily a few hundred feet above his head, Abaddon laughed again. “What’s wrong, Dean? A little out of your reach?”

“I have wings too, dumbass!” he shouted, then followed her into the burning sky. His movements were choppy and uncoordinated, but he was suspended in the air at her eye level. Still, Death could tell this wasn’t going to go well for the new demon.

He was right, of course.

Abaddon grinned malevolently and performed three maneuvers in a quick succession. Almost at the same time, her tail shot out and wrapped around Dean’s ankle, a pair of molten spears shot from her wrists and hit his wings, and she spat out a triumphant laugh. Dean screamed as the lava burned his wings, but it wasn’t quite enough to stop him. Fuelled entirely by rage, the Knight surged forward in an attempt to attack using his wings alone (despite their injuries, apparently). Abaddon dodged him easily and used her tail to throw him back to the ground, where he fell in a crumpled heap.

The older Knight landed softly beside him and knelt so that they were face to face. Obviously thinking the battle had already been won, she began speaking softly into the Winchester’s ear. ”You see, Dean, this is _my_ turf. You may have beaten me with your magic _toothpick_ back on Earth, but here in my realm you will always lose. Especially while you still have no idea how to use your own body.” She sniffed condescendingly at his wings. “But enough about your inadequacies, I want to know why you want my army.”

Dean remained slumped to the ground, which surprised Death. He would have expected the former hunter to be fighting to the last second, but he’d been wrong before. It appeared he was wrong now, as Dean’s weak voice replied, “None of your business.”

“I bet I could guess why you want it,” Abaddon practically sang. Death had never seen her happier. ”This is about that angel boyfriend of yours, isn’t it? I wonder—“ She didn’t have time to finish, because Dean chose that moment to strike at last. His tail was around her neck in less than a second, and in the blink of a human eye he was on his feet while she writhed, choking, on the ground.

“You don’t know shit,” Dean spat. His grip on her throat loosened just enough to allow her to breathe.

“I know enough,” rasped Abaddon, still managing to smile even as her face contorted in pain. “Or I can guess. Like how angry he must be, your feathered friend, that he went through all that trouble to save you from Hell, only to have you end up here anyway.”

Dean paused. His face seemed to crumple for a second. Remarkably, impossibly, the Knight yelled in pain. He let Abaddon go and instead fell to his knees, clutching his face as though it had been sprayed with poison. Then Death realized what had happened: for the first time in months, tears had welled up in Dean Winchester’s eyes and the salt had burned the new demon’s skin. That wasn’t something Death saw every day.

Abaddon used her time wisely, springing to her feet and backing away from Dean so that she was out of his tail’s range. While the new Knight was still blinded by pain and salty tears, she got in one final taunt before fleeing to a deeper part of Hell: “There’s still a bit of human in you after all, Winchester.” she jeered.

She was gone before Dean’s scream of fury had ended.

-O-

Death stayed on his perch in Hell for a while, just to see what Dean would do next.

To be honest, it was a bit boring.

Reconstruction was apparently the first thing on the Knight’s agenda. He kept the throne, which Death was slightly surprised to see, but immediately did away with the millions of torture racks and grimy cells. Now the damned souls wandered freely, aimlessly stumbling through fiery pits and over jagged mountains, doing absolutely nothing at all. Death couldn’t understand why the new King of Hell had enacted this strange new practice, of all things, but he assumed it had something to do with the unpleasant memories Dean already had of the place.

Next, of course, was the army. Dean assembled the demons relatively quickly for a newbie, and they seemed perfectly content to follow him. The idiots probably would’ve been content to follow anyone who was willing to lead, but Death also knew that the elder Winchester had a bit of a reputation here in Hell, just like he’d had in Purgatory: Alistair’s former protégé was not someone to be trifled with, it seemed.

Dean appointed a few demon generals, one of which was his old friend Bela Talbot. She was apparently a key component for establishing his respect; the other demons seemed to fear Dean, but they genuinely looked up to Bela. She spread the word about Dean’s rise to power, and she made sure his reputation was menacing. Looking at her charisma in the underworld, Death couldn’t help but wonder why this Talbot girl had not risen to the throne before Abaddon. He made a note to look into it later.

For now, Dean Winchester’s place as King of Hell seemed secure. Even after the fight between the Knights, the balance of power in the underworld was at least stable. But Death wasn’t stupid. He knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

The King was gathering his demon legion, and Death knew exactly what he was planning to do with it.

-O-

Before dealing with the issue directly, Death felt he needed a pick-me-up. Which was why he stopped for a burger in some one-horse town in the middle of Ohio.

He chewed thoughtfully, considering the ridiculous situation before him. Frankly, he still found it degrading that this was apparently all he was good for these days, fixing the universe every time the Winchesters managed to break it. And to make matters worse, he knew that the only thing that would truly solve this issue involved Death acting the part of a measly Cherub. Making idiots realize they love each other was actually so far below him that it was _embarrassing_.

Death supposed he could just trap Dean for eternity and give Hell’s throne back to Abaddon. But then Sam and Castiel would inevitably pester him, and goodness knew he didn’t need any more annoyances in his existence. No, it made much more sense to just force the fools to work it out themselves. Especially if this was (as it appeared to be) one of the few things that Fate had actually foretold lately.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?”

Beside him, an elderly waitress (her name was Doreen) was smiling warmly and gesturing at his empty plate. Her eyes were soft, but Death could see the pain underneath her fragile human flesh. A wife at home dying of lung cancer, a waitressing job that didn’t pay enough for the bills, and a son who was struggling through medical school to make ends meet before both mothers died. But there was joy, too; Death could see it in the form of their three healthy grandchildren, the book that the sick woman was writing, and cribbage games every weekend. Such was the human race: stubborn, tenacious, and endlessly optimistic.

Death smiled at the woman. “No, thank you. I’ll just take a check.”

The waitress beamed before taking his plate away. Death sighed. He couldn’t lock Dean Winchester away, not when there was a clear solution to the problem. This task wouldn’t be easy, and it may have been demeaning, but Dean’s soul was worth it.

For a tip, Death left a check for $500,000 on his table. It was written out to Doreen and Patricia Costanzo and signed from some idiotic CEO in Tennessee.

-O-

“Thank you for the warning, but it’s impossible for demons to attack Heaven.”

Death rolled his eyes. Of course the angel would think that his celestial blanket fort was some sort of impenetrable fortress. Castiel at least had the sense to bring this conversation into a side office, away from the ears of his general and lieutenants. Still, that didn’t change the fact that war was coming to the guy, whether he wanted to believe it or not.

“You know that Dean Winchester is not just any demon,” drawled Death impatiently. “He is a Knight of Hell, fueled with the power of Cain himself _in addition to_ his obsessive desire to have you back.” He looked at the angel pointedly, hoping that the poor fool would get the message. No such luck.

“He knows that I’m busy,” Castiel said impatiently. Yeah, as though _he_ was the one who had had enough of this whole business, rather than Death. Unbelievable. “I will return to him when my duty is finished.”

“There isn’t time for that, Castiel. Dean is coming now.”

“He can’t—“ Suddenly Castiel gasped in pain and slumped against the wall beside him. He placed a steadying hand on a desk and spent a few seconds breathing heavily.

“Your Grace is fading fast.” Death observed.

“Yes.”

The semi-angel did look pale, now that he looked closer. Death hadn’t been paying attention when he’d first informed Castiel that Dean intended to invade Heaven and kidnap him, but now it was painfully obvious: Castiel was struggling to hold himself together.

“I cannot keep mending it for you.”

“Can you mend it now?” Castiel asked, looking up hopefully through eyes that were glistening with barely-repressed tears.

“No.” replied Death coolly. “I’m sorry, Castiel, but I can’t. You’ll need to figure out a way to deal with this yourself.”

“It’s too early to—“ Castiel groaned in pain again and clutched his chest, as though the borrowed Grace was physically trying to escape from his body. “I can’t leave the angels yet, they aren’t ready to be leaderless. But I don’t understand how Dean could have possibly discovered how to breach Heaven.”

Death tried his best not to sound exasperated. “It’s not like you’ve been trying particularly hard to keep Heaven’s entrance a secret, Castiel. You were basically flaunting that little door-portal around like a beacon, just waiting for the demons to find it. And with Dean’s help, they did.”

Castiel’s face went, if possible, even paler.

“If what you say is true, then—“

“I’m _Death_ you pathetic excuse for a seraphim. Of course what I say is true.”

“—then I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do anyway. My Grace…” Castiel looked down at himself sadly. “well, you know the state of my Grace. It’s in tatters. And Heaven is no better off – I’m still trying to piece it back together, we cannot fight the armies of Hell when we ourselves don’t have any actual organizational structure!”

Death sighed. “I’m sorry, Castiel. I really am. But I’m afraid I’ve interfered enough already.” He looked at the desperate angel sadly, hoping against hope that this game he was playing would be enough. Manipulation was not his forte. “One hint: I would suggest a _gentler_ touch to fight Dean. Good luck.”

-O-

Death went to an obscure part of Heaven to watch the events unfold.

It wasn’t like he was _actually_ interested in how the battle played out – he merely wanted to make sure that the lovebirds-to-be didn’t destroy all of reality because of some domestic spat. That was all.

After a few hours of waiting, Joshua joined him at his perch.

“Are you enjoying your time back in Heaven?” Death asked conversationally.

Far below them, Castiel’s angels were scurrying around like field mice. They had swapped their office space for a proper battle station, and orders were being shouted left and right. Castiel, it seemed, had managed to pull at least a _semblance_ of organization together in a few hours.

Joshua chuckled, but remained staring straight ahead. “I never thought I’d be back.”

“You like it here, with all this hustle and bustle?”

“If you know Heaven as well as I do,” said Joshua tiredly with a serene smile. “you know where to go to get some peace and quiet.”

“And why aren’t you there now?”

“I wanted to see what all this ‘hustle and bustle’ was all about. I may be shy, but I’m not entirely devoid of curiosity.”

“Fair enough. What do you think of Castiel?”

Joshua paused thoughtfully. “He has a good heart. Through thick and thin, he has always believed he was doing the right thing. Of all my brothers and sisters’ misdeeds, we cannot ask for more than that. Whether it will be enough to defeat Hell, well, that remains to be seen.”

Death nodded appreciatively. He should’ve made more effort to get to know this particular angel a little better, it seemed; he had a good head on his winged shoulders. “Well said.”

“God has said that this moment will be pivotal for the fate of the universe.”

“So I’ve heard. That’s why I’ve worked so hard to make it happen exactly how it must.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

“Don’t thank me yet. The battle hasn’t even begun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah this chapter took forever to write. I was distracted, ok – I recently discovered I have a pretty bad crush on someone and so it made me want to write schmoop, not epic battle scenes. Still, I got it done and this chapter was super fun to write anyway :)
> 
> Couple of things, though: I was kind of picturing Dean and Abaddon’s true forms to look a little something like consulting-cannibal’s recent art of [them](http://consulting-cannibal.tumblr.com/post/87181884196/i-am-really-bad-at-coming-up-with-ideas-for) [both](http://consulting-cannibal.tumblr.com/post/89534073726/look-its-another-trueform-this-time-its). So like that, mixed with elements of Jensen and Alaina?? I don’t know. I kept the description intentionally vague.
> 
> Also: I’m really sorry about Dean calling Abaddon “bitch” in this chapter… I personally HATE the way that insult gets thrown around on the show, but I wanted to use it this one time as something to incite Abaddon to get angry enough to fight back. Seeing Dean call her a bitch on the show makes me angry, so I guess I was hoping that would transfer to my awesome readers over here :) Either way, sorry about the slur! Promise it won’t happen again without an equally justifiable reason.
> 
> This note is getting hella long now, so I just wanted to end with a giant THANK YOU for reading! You dudes are seriously the best. Next chapter will most likely be the last! AHH!!


	6. Hold on Tightly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Key ingredients for fixing the universe: the King of Hell, a fallen angel, and just enough Death to bring the two of them together. Pun intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH(s?). 
> 
> It's not tagged in this fic's Major Archive Warnings (I chose not to tag them to avoid spoilers), but you should know that this is the chapter where it happens, just in case that matters to you. I hope you keep reading anyway, because it might not turn out how you expect :)

“CASTIEL!”

Dean Winchester’s shout rent the air like a meat cleaver, echoing with a chilling bravado through the center of Heaven. What had been a bustling office space just minutes before was now an open field, Castiel’s final precaution for the impending battle.

“CAS!”

“I’m here, Dean.”

Death let out an amused huff. Joshua, seated serenely by his side on the mountaintop, did the same. “That poor angel is going to be crushed like a bug under a boot.”

“Perhaps,” mused Death. “or perhaps not.”

Dean had brought three legions of demons with him, roiling dark masses of rotting flesh and snarling flames. They crackled excitedly in Heaven’s clean air, barely holding their organizational units together. Castiel, meanwhile, appeared with only a small battalion of angels at his back, barely enough to form ranks. Still, if this played out as Death had intended, the numbers wouldn’t matter in the end.

The new King of Hell stepped forward so that he was nose to nose with Castiel. Splattered with dried blood, stinking of sulfur, and poised like a tiger ready to pounce, Dean cut a much more impressive figure than the leader of the Heavenly Host. Castiel, for his part, stood with his shoulders back and his chin raised stubbornly, but no amount of body language could hide the weariness that seeped from his core. It settled like dust on the lids of the angel’s eyes, prodded incessantly at his barely trembling knees, and sat like a weight on his heaving chest. The leader of Heaven was exhausted, and Death knew he wasn’t the only one who could see through the charade.

Dean stepped closer with a snarl, the two adversaries alone in the middle of the no-man’s-land. “Why didn’t you answer my prayers?”

“I was busy, Dean, you—“

“Yeah, I get it. I’m not worth your precious time.” Dean ran a finger along the edge of the First Blade, the expression on his face oddly close to bitterness. So Death was right: Castiel did bring the humanity out in Dean. Not that that seemed to matter right now.

 “I don’t know why I was surprised,” Dean continued with a cruel sneer. “You did what you always do. You fluttered off without a _single_ explanation, right after we found out you were fucking _dying_. And I wish I didn’t care, but just like I said in all those stupid prayers: you make me human, Cas—”

“Dean, I—“

“—and we both know that humanity is weakness,” Dean kept talking as though Castiel had never interrupted, speaking louder to make himself heard more clearly over the angel’s small protests. “so, as the new King of Hell, I can’t afford weaknesses. I have to destroy them all. Starting with you.”

Castiel’s eyes widened in shock as he realized Death had made up the kidnapping story. Who knew it would be so easy to lie to an angel. “You came here to kill me?” he said, his voice quiet but steady.

Dean laughed. “What the hell do you think I brought an _army_ for, dumbass?”

“I thought—“

“What? That I’d drag you away to Hell, make you my own personal version of that Persephone chick? Not my style, dude.” Dean’s voice, light and playful only moments before, suddenly turned menacing. “I need you gone.”

“Not happening, demon.” A female voice said suddenly. Another angel stepped forward so that she was standing side by side with Castiel. Death recognized her as the one he had spoken to about Heaven’s new leader all those weeks ago; he remembered that her name was Hannah. “Castiel is a good leader, all the angels here have come willingly to fight by his side, and will gladly die defending him if it comes to that.”

“Hannah, I can’t ask—“

She turned to look directly at Castiel, her eyes bright with passion. “You didn’t have to ask.”

Dean made an annoyed sound somewhere between a sigh and a grunt. “Basically all of you are gonna die today, so it really doesn’t matter.” He grinned wickedly back at his demonic horde, which seemed to writhe in anticipation. He raised his voice so that they could all hear, “Who’s ready to have a little fun?”

A collective hiss swept through the hellish crowd, and Death could see the demon known as Bela smiling wryly at the front of one legion. Behind Castiel, the angels stood like statues.

“Did you know about this?” Joshua asked quietly. Death looked at the angel with casual indifference. “That the Knight intended to kill Castiel?”

“Yes,” Death replied calmly. “and if he does then a new leader will step up to rule Heaven, Dean will be King of Hell, and the balance of the universe can continue. I do not want the angel to die, but his life is technically unimportant. This is entirely Dean’s decision.”

Joshua snorted, clearly unimpressed with Death’s assessment, but remained silent as the two of them continued to watch the battle unfold.

Far below, Hannah and another angel were attempting to physically pull Castiel away from Dean by the shoulders. For his part, Castiel barely fought back; his eyes were widened and body stiff with shock. “Dean, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I had no idea that you were—“

“No idea about what, Cas?!” the King of Hell roared. Dean’s wings flared suddenly, his true form leaking through as he prepared for a fight. “No idea that I was rotting alone in the bunker while you did your _angel bullshit_ up here? No idea that I was out there killing others so I could stay sane enough to not murder _Sam_? That I was losing myself, just because you were _too busy_ to be a good friend for once in your goddamn life and stay with me?”

The angels at Castiel’s shoulders were pulling harder now, desperately dragging their leader backwards as Dean advanced on them, First Blade held threateningly aloft.

 “Dean, I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t know. I would have come back. You know I would have.” Castiel turned to Hannah and tried to shake her off, lunging forward for the first time in his desperation. He barely managed to get himself free. Castiel stood his ground as Dean advanced. “But if you want to kill me, fine. It’s no more than I deserve.”

“Castiel, NO—!“

“Be quiet, Hannah.” Castiel said sharply, and she fell silent. “You’re right, Dean. I’ve been a terrible friend, and no amount of apologizing will change that. Purgatory was too lenient a penance for my many sins, and if you want me dead I will oblige your wishes. I can think of no better way to spend my final moments.”

For the first time since Dean had roused them, the demon horde was silent. Dean stopped in his tracks, staring hungrily at the angel before him. His horns had manifested along with the wings by this point, his teeth bared and tail looming behind him like a serpent waiting to strike. The animalistic anger that had fueled his fight with Abaddon was back, and it was about to be released upon Castiel.

“C’mon then, feathers, let’s finish this.” Dean growled, raising the First Blade as he prepared to deliver the final blow. Castiel closed his eyes, bracing himself for the impact, as Dean brought the blade crashing down—

—onto Hannah. She had jumped in front of Castiel just in time.

“NO!” Castiel screamed as the other angel crumpled to the ground. But Death could tell even from this distance that he would not be reaping this particular being today; the wound was not fatal, it had glanced off her shoulder. She would be benched for the remainder of this battle, but she could fight another day.

The other angels didn’t know that, though.

They surged forward with a vengeful shout, the combination of grief for their fallen sister and fear for their new leader driving them to attack. The demons were all too happy to meet them. Both masses clashed almost artistically: light flashing against dark, metal swords clanging against bones and shredding through flesh, claws and wings and teeth and tails colliding in a fray of fury.

Castiel was cutting a path through the churning group of beings, carefully protecting Hannah as he dragged her away from danger. He made it to the edge and was taking the time to settle Hannah more comfortably against a rock when she sputtered into his ear, “I’ll be fine, go.” Nodding, Castiel patted her reassuringly on the back, said a brief “thank you,” and returned to battle.

Dean was in the very center of it all, wreaking havoc with every part of his body. He cut everything and everyone down with the First Blade, demons and angels alike, in his fervor to reach Castiel. But the angels had been trained for this. They formed a clever blockade around their leader, systematically keeping the demons at bay as Castiel tried desperately to escape.

“No!” he shouted fruitlessly, drained powers essentially useless against the angels that locked him in their protective prison. “Please, my siblings, you have to let me out! If you don’t let him end me, more of you will die!”

They ignored him.

Dean, on the other hand, did not. “That’s right, birdbrains. Let him out and it’ll be all over.” The King of Hell laughed manically as he splattered blood left, right, and center. Just behind him, a trail of demons was following cautiously, Bela Talbot in the front with her angel blade in hand. All of them seemed to be waiting for Dean to cut a path through the angels so that they could strike.

Minutes later, Dean finally got to the ring of angels that directly surrounded Castiel. He grabbed one by the ankle with his tail, flinging her away from her brothers and sisters brutally while he slashed her neighbors with the First Blade. Castiel took advantage of the opportunity and leapt forward, dodging through the temporary gap and ducking lithely beneath Dean’s wings to get behind his back.

He wasn’t expecting the line of demons just behind the King.

“Ah.” Castiel groaned as Bela’s blade sank into his stomach, and she smiled down at him.

“I don’t think we’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, Castiel,” Bela said gently, withdrawing the blade with a flash of blood. “but it doesn’t matter much now, I suppose.”

Dropping to his knees, Castiel curled around his wound with another moan of pain. Behind him, the angels had broken ranks and chaos reigned. One on one battles between angels and demons broke out as both parties tried to reach Castiel.

Dean got there first.

“Bela, what did you do?!” Was Death imagining things, or was the King of Hell’s voice cracked with emotion?

“I killed him, which is exactly what you wanted.”

“I—“ Dean looked down at his friend, who had his forehead pressed to the ground, clutching his stomach as bright blood spilled unabashedly onto the grass below. “Yeah, thanks I guess.”

Bela smiled proudly and joined another fight. Dean, however, knelt beside Castiel.

“D-Dean,” Castiel stammered, collapsing onto his side with exhaustion. “Please. End it.”

Dean gripped the First Blade tighter. The mark on his forearm glowed. Castiel sighed with relief.

“I would do it all again, you know,” Castiel said suddenly, turning to face Dean. His voice shook a little at first, but it grew steadier as he kept talking, “All of it. Saving you from Hell. Being tortured by my brother for helping you. Working with Crowley to keep you happy. I’ve been falling for you for years, Dean Winchester, and I would fall for you every day for eternity.”

Dean’s eyes widened.

“I need you too, Dean. I’m sorry you didn’t see it before.”

“Cas—“

“I’m here. I always will be, as long as you want me around.”

The First Blade hit the ground with a soft and unassuming _thud_ when Dean dropped it. Black eyes met the angel’s blue ones and seemed to soften. Soon those dark, soulless tunnels of hate flickered back to their normal green and Dean’s features visibly relaxed. And then finally, _finally_ the thing that Death had been waiting for happened: Dean kissed the feathered idiot.

With angels and demons still battling around them, the King of Hell and the fallen angel stayed completely engrossed in each other. It was a solid half a minute before their lips separated.

“Cas…” Dean murmured, staring in shock at the flower of blood that was blossoming at Castiel’s stomach. “Cas, buddy, I’m so sorry—“

“It’s all right, I can heal it.” Castiel smiled, his lips wavering only slightly in pain. His face was pale and his hands were shaking, but the guy looked happy. Dean backed off, giving him space to let what was left of his angelic powers heal the wound.

Death probably should have warned them that that was a terrible idea.

Within seconds of the wound healing, Castiel was gasping in pain again and clutching at his chest, collapsing back onto the ground. “CAS!” Dean shouted, shaking the angel’s shoulders worriedly. “Cas, what’s wrong? What’s going on?!”

“My— Grace—“

“ _Shit_.” Dean stared hopelessly at the sky as if that would answer his problems. “Okay. Cas, you’re gonna be fine. Everything’s gonna be all right, I promise—“

“Even if this doesn’t turn out all right, please don’t worry.”

“Of course I’m gonna fucking worry!” Dean snarled. Castiel winced, and Dean took a deep breath to calm down. “Sorry. I don’t want to lose you, man. Not again.”

Castiel was struggling to breathe now, his lungs filling and refilling in choppy bursts. His hands shook as they cupped the King of Hell’s face, and Dean covered them with his own to try and stop it. But like all of his other gestures had been, it was in vain.

“Not even if I make you human?”

Dean managed a smile. “I’ve been human for a long time, Cas. It’s not so bad. But you have to stick around for that to happen, ok? Please stick around, don’t leave me—“

“I won’t leave you.” Even Dean knew that was a lie. Castiel’s voice was getting weaker even as they sat there.

“C’mere, dude.” Dean wrapped his arms around his friend and tugged him against his chest. The two of them sat there for a few minutes, utterly surrounded by blood and fighting and chaos, Dean cradling Castiel soothingly against him and dropping kisses on every spot of skin he could reach.

“I wish that we’d – had this – sooner.” Castiel stuttered, his words slurring against Dean’s neck.

“Me too.” the demon whispered, tears forming in his eyes as they turned black with fear. Death noticed that this time the King of Hell ignored the pain as salty wetness stained both of their shirts. Castiel’s breath hitched suddenly and his eyes drifted closed. No doubt fearing the worst, Dean sobbed into the fallen angel’s shoulder.

Minutes later, a broken scream pierced the battle-charged air, slicing through the din like a hot knife through butter. “DEATH!”

Slightly confused, Death looked at Joshua. “I think he’s talking to you, my old friend.” murmured the angel slowly, nodding back at Death.

“Yes, I suppose he is.” Death stared down his long nose, waiting for further confirmation that Dean Winchester was in fact yelling for him. No use wasting the energy if it wasn’t necessary.

“DEATH, YOU BASTARD I KNOW YOU’RE UP THERE WATCHING!”

All right, the boy was talking about him.

“You rang?” Death said dryly as he appeared beside the demon and his fallen angel, who was still unconscious. Sick of the noise, Death raised a hand and every fighter on the field immediately collapsed into a deep sleep.

“Help him.” Dean growled, ignoring the sudden stillness.

“Why?”

“Because you _can_!” screamed the King of Hell. “I know you can. And you were sitting up there watching all of this, so I know you must be interested in how it turns out.” Dean stopped, looking Death straight in the eye as he softened his voice. “Please. I’m begging you to fix him, I’ll do anything.”

“If you want to barter, you’ll have to talk to a crossroads demon. I am a bit higher on the totem pole.”

Grinding his teeth with frustration, Dean was obviously fighting to keep his tone polite. “I don’t have a soul to barter with. You’re the only one who can make him human.” Dean clutched the angel tighter to his chest protectively.

“And what makes you think he _wants_ to be human? The last time we all talked, I believe you lovebirds were having a little spat about autonomy, correct?”

“Yes.” Dean grated out, his tail whipping back and forth angrily behind him. “But he changed his mind. He said that he wanted more time, he wanted us to have more time…” Dean’s voice trailed off, going quiet as the King choked back tears. He cleared his throat before continuing, “He said he’d never leave me again. _Please_.”

Death considered his options. Letting Castiel die would be easier in the short run, but if it happened there was no telling what kind of rampage Dean would go on. Again. And the universe really couldn’t balance when Dean Winchester was upset, he’d figured that out the hard way…

Death knelt beside the two of them, placing a careful hand on the angel’s chest. He looked seriously at Dean. “Listen to me very carefully. I will make him human again because I like this little ball of feathers, and because I think it will stop you from doing anything brash. Do not make me regret this decision. In exchange for his life, you will remain on Earth, and you will not cause trouble. Do I make myself clear?”

Nodding diligently, Dean replied with a clipped, “Yes.”

“Good. Now, when I make him human he will fall to Earth. The landing shouldn’t hurt him, but he will need plenty of rest. I am assuming you would like to fall with him?”

Dean gently rested his forehead against the angel’s. “Every day for the rest of eternity.”

Sappy lovebirds. For the first time in his existence, Death wanted to take a shower.

“Fine. Hold onto him tightly, I’ll see you both soon.” Death placed his palm flat against Castiel’s chest and closed his eyes. He entered the angel’s faltering subconscious with ease, weaving through strands of thought and memory like a fish through seaweed. When he finally reached the core of Castiel’s being, Death cupped it in his hands and began muttering a spell, converting the tattered Grace into a full human soul. The angel (no, human now) gasped in shock and pain, his eyes flinging open as Death returned from the subconscious. Dean had one hand clutching Castiel’s and another around the new human’s waist, murmuring reassurances into his ear.

Less than a millisecond later, a tunnel of white light swallowed the two of them and they fell down to Earth together.

-O-

Death met them in the Men of Letters bunker a few hours later.

The scene that he accidentally walked into was perhaps just as chaotic as the battle he had just returned from. Sam was demanding answers in a hushed voice, and the shock on his face still hadn’t faded. Dean paced restlessly in front of a bedroom door, hissing clipped replies to all of Sam’s questions while trying to look like he was actually paying attention. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and inside Death could see Castiel lying fast asleep on the bed, his body resting on top of the covers. He looked peaceful.

Death didn’t wait to make himself seen this time. He didn’t want to hear the brothers fighting any longer than necessary.

“Hello, you two.” Death said calmly, but even that made both brothers jump. “How has your new human friend been settling in?”

“He’s fine,” grunted Dean. “Sleeping, like you said.”

“Dean told me about what you did,” Sam said, looking almost reverently at Death. “Thank you. I’m not sure he said it, so I will for the both of us: thanks. Seriously.”

“It was either save him or listen to your brother whine about it for the rest of his sorry existence,” Death replied coolly. The brothers gaped at him. “And I liked the birdbrain.”

“Yeah, we all do.” Dean muttered. Death didn’t miss the proud smile that crept onto Sam’s face when he heard his brother say that.

“Would you mind explaining something to me, though?” Sam asked, looking curiously at Death. With a curt nod, Death encouraged the boy to go on. “The last time I saw Dean, he seemed ready to eat my guts at any second. And now he’s basically back to normal, except for the eyes thing. Does that have anything to do with Cas?”

“It has everything to do with Castiel, and you for that matter,” said Death before Dean could respond. “Your brother is still technically a demon, a Knight of Hell to be exact, but he should be able to keep himself in line. Be careful of salt, holy water, exorcisms, and all that, of course. But as long as he has many different types of love in his life he will be just fine.”

“Many different types of love? What the hell does that mean?” demanded Dean, sounding angry for some reason.

Death explained calmly, “Platonic, familial, and romantic love. All of them are important, all of them will keep you humane. Surround yourself with it, just like Cain did, and you’ll live a long and happy life. Centuries, if you want.”

Dean’s face seemed to crumple with something like anguish. He looked back at the bedroom where Castiel was sleeping. “What if I don’t want to live for centuries? What if I just want to live for, say, seventy years or so?”

“I’m _Death_ , Dean,” he replied in exasperation. “I’m sure I can arrange something.”

The relief on Dean’s face was so obvious his entire demeanor changed in seconds. “Okay.”

“Dean,” Sam said quietly. “Are you forgetting anything?”

“Oh, right,” Dean walked over to the center of the bunker, where a giant table was laid out with papers and coffee mugs and what appeared to be some hunting tools. He picked up an object and thrust it towards Death with a gruff, “Take it.”

Looking down at the thing, Death couldn’t help but smile. “You’re sure? If I hide it, you won’t ever be able to—“

“I’m certain.” Dean interrupted, his tone firm and almost demanding. He refused to look at Death, but whether that was from shame or fear Death would never know. “Hide it, destroy it, I don’t care. All I know is that when it’s around, it’s a temptation. And I don’t need that.”

Death nodded and took the First Blade into his hands, already thinking of places where nothing would be able to find the thing, not even God. “I wish all three of you the best of luck. Hopefully we won’t meet again for a long, long time.”

“Yeah, hopefully.” Dean said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Death left the bunker feeling happy for the first time in centuries. His plan had worked.

-O-

Just in case, Death called a meeting between the new plane leaders a few days later.

He had decided during that final battle that simply appointing beings to each role was much easier (and much more efficient) than letting them fight it out themselves. So he selected the best one for each plane: Hannah was the new leader of Heaven, Bela would be Queen of Hell, and Abaddon could go back to ruling Purgatory. They each liked the idea, so Death allotted them each a process for obtaining souls and sent them on their way. After they swore to maintain the universe’s balance, obviously.

Death ate a whole bag of pickle chips that day to celebrate a job well done.

-O-

72 years, four months, seventeen days, ten hours, and fifty-three minutes after Castiel became human, Death noticed that it was time for the former angel’s thread to be cut. Fate got angry at him when he asked for a small delay, but she was hard pressed to deny him much after he saved the universe (and her job) all those years ago.

Death returned to Earth that sunny afternoon to find Dean and Castiel tucked away in a cabin in Maine. The former seraphim was asleep, gray and withered in his old age but a pleasant smile plastered to his lips. Dean was curled around him, looking just as young as the day Death had last seen him, cradling Castiel to his chest with his face buried in the human’s neck. He sat up when Death entered the room.

“We’ve been expecting you.” The tone wasn’t accusing, per se, but Death could tell Dean was upset. At least this wasn’t a shock, though.

“You remember my promise, Dean. I can take you too, if you want.”

Dean relaxed. “Please do.”

“Going up is easier than falling down, you know. This trip to the next plane will be easier than the last one.”

“Up?” Dean asked, shock painting his tired features. “As in, to _Heaven_? I’m a demon!”

“I’ve called in a few favors, Hannah would be glad to take you.” Death found himself smiling as Dean beamed with joy. “Are you ready?”

Dean sucked in a nervous breath. “Yeah. Should I wake him?”

“No, let him pass in his sleep, it’s easier that way. I’ll take you both together.”

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, Dean. It has been an honor.” Death smiled again and reached out his hand to take hold of Castiel. With a final nod, he instructed Dean, “Hold onto him tightly…”

Every day for the rest of eternity, just like Dean said he would.

 

-FIN-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW this was an absolute blast to write. Thank you **so** much for reading, commenting, and kudosing! This story went a hell of a lot further than I thought it would, and in fact I think it's my first fully completed multi-chapter fic for this fandom. Woo! Accomplishment!
> 
> Anyway, I hope that you enjoyed reading this story as much as I loved writing it. Thanks again for all of your support ♥


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